hear me, mistress.

i embrace
dormancy today. called by shadow

to silence. wisdom
doesn't need a voice, don't

we all know. fire

takes my eyes
to see
for its cruel longing

what it can gather. in return,

i'm given protection
of its shortcomings
when liberation

is a foreign dream, foreign
as in
never known it before; maybe

read of it in stories.

i face the west of the sky, waiting
for the sun

to drop- a weapon of wind,

like myself, though i

am one joined
with weapon

of earth- a stray web, haunted

by spider, whose love
walks its fate toward

my barely wiggling, narrow
vacancy; toward

the vibrations i send
from my limited
struggle

who calls
to entertain.
my will floats away- a ghost

to become within those foreign dreams, maybe.

be they the devils.
the poverty of the nation.
of a dying childs.
a neglected houseplant.
an animal being prepared

for sacrificing, slaughter, extinction.
be the image
i have not yet embraced feeling yet.

atman, hear this.
may my suffering be made clear.
my degenerations
have been repurposed

for the greater good;
upkeeping
the essence of fertility.
giving

as to show devotion.

stars of the dirt. stories, millions
of the trees.

at times, i did my best.
may

the next life be spared
from a black fate, from
a replication of its former.

hear me, without
flattery, and

without execution.
hear me address you

as an equal.

it is now
that the sky
is a calm place. cloud

wrapping around my body. white forest.
freedom introduces itself

at strange times.